After four years of silence, my son returned—not with an apology, but with a lawyer, demanding I leave my own house. What he didn’t realize was that his lawyer, my high school sweetheart, had a plan to change everything in ways Brian never saw coming.
I hadn’t seen Brian in four years. After his father’s death, he raided the house—taking the car, watches, and cash—then vanished without a word. He hadn’t been cruel growing up, but grief had changed him, turning the thoughtful boy I knew into someone unrecognizable. While I mourned quietly, he seemed to channel his loss into anger and detachment.
The house became my anchor, a place where I could feel close to my late husband. Losing Brian was like another bereavement, one I learned to live with as I rebuilt my life. Then yesterday, he showed up.
Seeing him on my porch made my heart race. For a brief moment, I thought he’d come to reconcile. But the sharp-suited man standing beside him shattered that illusion.
“This is my attorney,” Brian said flatly. “You have until tomorrow to vacate the house, or we’ll take you to court.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “Vacate? Brian, this is my home.”
“Not anymore,” he replied coldly. “Dad left it to me, and you’ve overstayed your welcome.”
The lawyer said nothing, but there was something familiar about him. Then, as Brian walked off, the lawyer caught my eye and gave the faintest wink—so subtle Brian missed it entirely.
“Mary,” he said softly after Brian had left. His voice was warm, familiar, and it sent a jolt through me.
“James?” I asked, barely believing it. It was him—my high school sweetheart.
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